Homer, Marge and the Mile High Club
by Brian Pearson
Summary: When Homer is called out of state on company business he brings Marge along, but her fear of flying makes her anxious in mid flight. Fortunately Homer has something to take Marge's mind off of her fears. Unfortunately things don't go as planned.GRAPHIC


Chapter 1-Getting Away

Simpson watched his wife cross the kitchen to the sink in her nightgown, the brief low lip of white lace at the neck of the gown revealing, had Homer been a taller man, an appetizing collection of curves. Homer may have not been a handsome man, but he was a lucky one.

Homer moved beside his wife, Marge, "How about this. If you go with me, I'll do the dishes."

Marge turned to Homer, "You've never done the dishes. Do you even know how?"

Homer, "I'm a fast learner."

Homer had handed Marge the precursor to a beautiful but unkind punch-line. Marge furrowed her brow.

"What about the kids?" she asked, she felt Homer move his hands down beneath the waist of her gown.

Homer was quick to retort, "We'll bring them too."

"Homer, you know how I feel about planes."

Homer snuck in a kiss, tucking his head down in front of Marge, over the sink, he pivoted his lips to meet his wife's, "I'm sure we'll think of something."

"I know what you're thinking." Marge said, her fingers slid down over the edges of the sink basin, into the soapy water around the plates.

"Yeah. Why can't your gowns be shorter in the back.", Homer couldn't reach the bottom of Marge's gown without crouching down.

"You don't think its worth waiting for?" Marge said playfully.

"I know it is."

"Being as impatient as you are, you better be a fast learner."

"Why do you make me wait for you so long, some times?"

"Because I love you. You love me."

"So, if I was to say 'I only want you for the sex.'... "

"Then, why don't you just take me?"

Homer moved his free hand down the front of Marge's gown, his fingertips drifting across the embroidery than bound her.

A voice appeared behind them, small and curious, "Dad, where are you going?"

It was Lisa.

Homer pulled away from Marge, and turned to address his oldest daughter. Marge followed suit.

"Nowhere..." Homer paused and then looking from Marge and back to Lisa, "by myself, I'm taking you with me. All of you guys."

"Can you afford that?"

"My boss gave me two tickets, and I can afford three more. Don't worry."

Homer looked back at Marge, she had a startled look still about her. He looked down and saw her legs shaking beneath the gown.

Lisa turned back from where she came in, but not before exclaiming in a glance a suspicious that she'd interrupted something when she entered.

Marge turned to Homer, who had already started on the dishes.

"As much as I love them" she started to say, "they have some of the worst timing."

Homer had refrained from all other things that could distract him. Marge looked down at him for a moment, realizing that once he started she better not break his concentration. She walked up toward the stairs, toward the bedroom.

Later when he came in, Marge stared back at herself, in the vanity mirror. The look she shared with her double, a look of resignation to her years. Admission to the fact she was no longer a girl. Homer had suspected at times, something slightly bipolar about Marge's emotional state. Something that made Marge forget the times he had and lengths he'd gone to worship her beauty. Times like this, where she'd left behind any memory of how he longed for her. At times he feared, especially now, the longing of one man was not enough.

He'd never imagined Marge capable of adultery, not now or ever, or even extramarital flirting. Marge was the moral compass that had turned Homer again and again day after day into a better person. And he could never think little of her, even when her own doubts outweighed his certainty.

"Marge?"

"Homer."

"What are you doing?"

"Homer, who do you think of the times that you don't want me?"

"What Marge?"

"Mindy? Or that country singer you managed?"

"Marge, I never wanted..."

"Someone younger."

"...anyone but you."

"Do you think that other people...? Does anyone at work ask about me?"

"What do you mean?" as hard as Homer imagined it would be for Marge, something inside of him, something self-loathsome in his nature wanted to hear her say it.

"Do other men want me?"

"You know they do. They all want you. Its the one reason anyone would want to be me."

"No they don't."

"Ah, come one. You don't think when you pass through that metal detector, the security guard won't be thinking of every way possible to get you out of your clothes."

Marge started to softly chuckle to herself. Homer reached over the vanity table and picked up a heavy red hair curler. He waved the handle over the front of Marge's gown like a metal detector.

"BEEP." Homer said.

"You made that sound with your mouth."

"No I didn't." Homer ran the handle over Marge's gown again, "BEEP. See. Now I'm afraid I'm going to have to search you."

"No please. Not in front of all these people."

"Sorry mam. But you should've thought of that before you came to the airport in your underwear."

Marge started to laugh again. Homer put the curler down and moved his hands, palms open to the front of the gown, reaching down he slowly began to fondle her. Marge felt her face turned red and her laughter escalate to loud hysteria. Marge spun around to face Homer, Homer took her in her arms and carried her to he bed.

"I'm afraid this won't do." Homer said, his voice deeper now, as he laid her down and saw her staring back at him, a serious look in her eyes. He moved his hands back down to her gown and pulled the straps down her shoulders, stopping where the ends met her elbows. His lips went down to her breasts and as his head descended to the beneath eye level he could hear her moan.

"I almost never leave this place, Homer. Sometimes I feel like an alien when I leave to go outside. I want to see the world. And I want the world to see me, sometimes."

"All of you?" Homer asked, his mouth inches from Marge now.

Marge reached down and took Homer's head in her hands, lifting his gaze to meet hers. She saw his hurt eyes, his worried pulverized expression.

"No. Not all of me. You know me, Homer. I'm uncomfortable at the beach in a one-piece. Everything that makes me a woman, everything and anything sexual about me is for you. I'm all yours and only yours. You and only you can have me. I belong to you, and you to me."

Homer reached up and kissed Marge on the lips. For the first time she could remember, she was holding him and not the other way around.


End file.
